Ceremonial
by Hyaenaa
Summary: It took Dagur too long to realize that Hiccup never cared for him, and even worse, that he had cared for Hiccup. Such was the fate of a Berserker. NSFW


**Warning for implied sexual content that involves dubious consent.**

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**Ceremonial**

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There weren't a lot of things Dagur was happy about. Berserkers weren't really meant to be happy. They were supposed to be fierce and scary. But, there were always the little things, here or there, that might've brought secret smiles to their faces.

Dagur always enjoyed coming to Berk.

He came once every season now. Four times a year. Oswald used to only take him there once every year, but ever since he noted that Dagur had taken a liking to the other chief-to-be, he brought him a bit more frequently. To say the least, Dagur had difficulty making friends back on his home island.

It wasn't Hiccup's personality that really pulled Dagur to him. Bits and pieces of it, he found amusing, yes. But really, there was something about intimacy with Hiccup that made him feel much more... Calm.

It had started when Hiccup was thirteen and Dagur was sixteen. Dagur felt weird about it. The age difference between the two of them seemed so large, even if in the adult world, three years was nothing. But Dagur felt the need to be closer to Hiccup than he did anyone else. Hiccup never really reflected these emotions, at least - not without some _persuasion_.

Dagur never really planned to force himself on Hiccup, but it just... Happened. Nervous, shaking, but domineering lips melding over Hiccup's more stiff, surprised ones when they'd been left alone. A hand forced down Hiccup's pants to grope curiously and heatedly at his length. And, after some unintentional coaxing, Hiccup returned the sentiment. Soft, tentative moaning on both of their ends. Unprecedented pleasure. Orgasm.

After they'd gotten a taste of each other, they never wanted to stop.

Oswald commented that he was glad Dagur had made friends with Hiccup. That it was nice to see Dagur being less on edge all the time. If only he knew what was really relaxing Dagur's nerves on every trip.

The violence dwindled down, too, at least, when Dagur was around Hiccup. He still had his tantrums when he was on his home island, but on Berk, something about him felt far less obligated to destroy all that was in his path. Any indication of cruelty he directed towards Hiccup was far less serious now, punctuated with secret smiles that they shared and sultry gazes that implied that they'd be exploring each other's bodies the moment that they got some alone time together. Hiccup became less fearful of the Berserker, though he still showed no emotional pleasantry towards him. Dagur was a body he liked to feel. Dagur was a way for him to explore the repressed sexuality he struggled with on Berk, where few vikings so much as even looked in his direction without scowling.

And really, this continued on for about two years.

Dagur would come to Berk for a week or so. He and Hiccup would touch each other - caress - lick, kiss. There were occasions that they ventured beyond heavy petting and into the depths of true penetration. The very concept was intoxicating, but it was a lengthy procedure and both of them were wary of being discovered. Then there were the secret smiles that made Dagur's heart flutter and his lower regions stir.

The moments of sensuality shared between them were beyond Dagur's expression of splendor. Little gasps and moans and grunts. Warm skin. Sweat. Bodies overlapping. Murmured sentiments of sexually charged words. Something even sweeter when they finished, and watched each other redress with tiny, secret grins. When they returned to their fathers, walking maybe a bit too close.

Maybe Dagur was happy. He was as close to it as he could get. Berserkers - well, they never really were meant to be happy, were they?

Upon Dagur's eighteenth year, something about Hiccup... Changed. He was now fifteen. Dagur hadn't heard the rumors. Didn't know. No one in the Berserker tribe knew that Berk was training dragons.

But there was the inexplicable closeness that had formed between Hiccup and some of the other teen vikings since Dagur's previous visit in the Spring. When he questioned Hiccup about why they'd been so friendly with him, Hiccup sent him a tight-lipped smile and shrugged. Dagur didn't really think more of it until he saw the way that Hiccup interacted with Astrid Hofferson.

The way that Astrid and he walked closely together, their knuckles brushing and their cheeks reddening. The way that they would glance at each other and share that same secret smile that Hiccup and Dagur had shared before. The way that Hiccup couldn't seem to make time for Dagur during this trip.

Dagur had never felt emotions as powerful as he had that day. Envy. Rage. Confusion. And worst of all, hurt.

That was _his_ secret smile, reserved for _him_. Why was Hiccup using it on someone else? Why wasn't Hiccup sending that smile to him anymore?

He couldn't grasp the notion of feeling this way over Hiccup. Why was he so upset? So he was being replaced by Astrid. What did it matter? He could easily find someone to replace Hiccup, couldn't he?

Why didn't he want to?

He had looked forward to seeing Hiccup. Why did he feel like every moment he wasn't with him was a waste of time? Why did he want to punch Astrid Hofferson in the face?

Dagur sulked in the forest, sharpening an axe as he glared into a nearby stream, wishing that Hiccup was there with him, nestled close to his body with one hand resting over his crotch. He had seen Astrid and Hiccup sitting together earlier that day - they thought that they'd been alone in the forest, cuddled closely as Astrid braided Hiccup's hair and they just sat there and talked mindlessly, both with gentle smiles overwhelming their flushed visages.

They looked so comfortable.

Why didn't Hiccup look like that with him? That should have been Dagur there, pressed to Hiccup's side and playing with his hair.

In a fit of rage, Dagur swung the axe into the tree and kicked the trunk furiously, screaming with livid anguish.

He just, _wanted_ Hiccup!

There was nothing more between them than sex. That was that. So why...?

Why did he feel like there was more? Why did he feel like he was _entitled_ to more?

Dinner in the town hall was hell in itself. Dagur had been seated diagonal to Hiccup, as opposed to beside him as usual. Their fathers sat in the seats of honor beside him, and the entire opposing side was inhabited by the Berk teens. Dagur didn't understand why they were there. They were nobodies. Why did they matter? Why was Hiccup sitting so close to Astrid?

During the toast, he watched as Hiccup's hand slid over Astrid's thigh. He watched her send one of those secret smiles to him. And for a moment, Dagur thought the world faded into one singular hue. Red, maybe? Black? White? He wasn't sure, it was so abrupt and swift and he was so tangled in his emotions that he couldn't even fathom what was happening.

That was his seat next to Hiccup.

That was his secret smile.

That was his-

_His-_

"Dagur! What's wrong?"

Bleary. Rage. Grinding teeth. He could hear his father's words but they didn't make it through to him until finally, he was being shaken by strong, meaty hands - his father's - and he realized that everyone was staring at him.

"Dagur?"

He looked up to Stoick, and then his father, then down to his hand where he'd crushed the drinking horn in his fist. Shards of broken horn, eradicated by his palm, jutted into his skin, causing blood to sprinkle over the top. The nuisance of a pain caught up with him and he rolled his eyes before he shook his hand, dislodging the horn fragments and droplets of blood onto the floor. There were still several cuts lining his palm but he didn't care, he didn't care. And Astrid was staring at him, Hiccup was staring at him, and he didn't _care_.

He stood and left without another word.

No one came after him. Not his father. Not Hiccup.

They left early on that trip. Dagur didn't even say goodbye to anyone. He was too angry, too sullen, too dismal. And he skipped the next trip to Berk. And then the next. Something in him felt like he was sort of sick of everything, especially Berk. Especially Hiccup and his stupid secret smiles that weren't a secret anymore.

His father finally asked him what was going on between him and Hiccup. Why didn't Dagur want to see him anymore? Were they still friends?

Were they ever friends?

Dagur didn't know the answer to any of those questions and instead groaned dramatically, trying not to picture Hiccup when he pushed a hand down his kilt. Trying not to think of him as the hot stinging invaded his eyes and he couldn't think of anything else. His sheets were damp with tears and cum when he finally finished, and he really didn't want to think about anything anymore.

When the next Berk meeting rolled around, Dagur backhanded his father for inviting him. He came regardless, if only to see if Hiccup had maybe... Changed his mind. If, maybe, he stopped giving Astrid Hofferson those looks that he'd once reserved for Dagur and Dagur alone.

But he hadn't.

He hadn't even greeted Dagur. Hadn't noticed him.

And he looked so happy. So happy it made Dagur nauseous. He never looked that happy when it had been the two of them. And it was with agony that Dagur realized that what Hiccup had with Astrid was more than what he'd ever had with Dagur. It was more than what Dagur would ever have with another person. He returned to the ships with shameful, despairing tears flooding his eyes.

Berserkers weren't really meant to be happy.


End file.
